


Heart's Desire

by sitabethel



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: M/M, Thiefshipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 12:55:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5497754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sitabethel/pseuds/sitabethel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Marik wants is a brand new, magically created, purple Ducati with carbon fiber exhaust and tires that never wear out. Thiefshipping/ 3-shot/ Lemon (last chapter)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

*****So, I've been taking a break from the Lemonade/Cotton Candy stands because of the holidays, but here's the one exception. This prompt is from chaosrocket. She wanted a Thiefshipping fic where Marik and Bakura try to cast a spell, and instead of doing whatever it was suppose to do - it makes it so that Bakura can't tell a lie. You may notice that nothing about that prompt actually happens here, and that's because this is broken into 3 chapters. I'll post chapter 2 tomorrow, and chapter three the day after (because I'm still editing them, lol).*****

* * *

The room was dim, not quite dark but close. Bakura stared at the ceiling. Everything sat motionless in the room; nothing moved, not even Bakura, not even the air. He sighed, knowing he should get up, shower, eat. Ryou would cry again if he didn't, but Bakura couldn't find the energy to move.

That was never a problem before, when he had vengeance to motivate him, when he had an enemy just out of reach of his fingertips, but now he had nothing, no purpose to drive him, and a hole inside him where Necrophades used to sit. He was empty, numb.

He heard the door open and shut, and he waited for Ryou's chirping voice to sing a forced, happy song to try and encourage him to get up . . . it wouldn't work. It never did. If Ryou cried he'd usually forced himself to eat lunch, but otherwise he stared at the ceiling.

A weight shifted onto the bed. Bakura felt the subtle warmth of a body next to him. He frowned, looking to the side. He expected to see Ryou, but instead of white he saw gold.

"Marik?"

Marik turned his head, looking Bakura in the eyes. "Hey."

"I thought you were in Egypt."

"Moved here a month ago."

"Oh." Bakura turned back to face the ceiling. "It's dark in here. You shouldn't be here."

"I bet Ryou opens the blinds to let the sun in, doesn't he?"

"Did he send you here to talk to me?"

"I asked him if I could come. I bet he tells you to get up. Knowing him, he probably bribes you with games and food."

"Yeah."

"But it's too much effort to get up, isn't it? Everything feels to slow and heavy? Except your core, that feels like air in an empty coffin, doesn't it?"

Bakura turned back to look at Marik. He kept his face pointing up, staring at the ceiling as Bakura had. His profile showed the beautiful angles of his jaw and cheekbones. Bakura did the math in his head, Ryou was twenty-one and that made Marik twenty. Four years wasn't that long to Bakura, not after thousands, but it made quite the difference on Marik's face. He looked less like a brat, more like the god he always wanted to become. Bakura turned away. "You need a haircut. It's getting too long."

"Yeah, probably. You know Ishizu was doing the same thing to me. Every morning she'd insist I eat breakfast, insist I smile, insist I go outside. She didn't understand." Marik snorted shaking his own head. "When I banished my darker side . . . for some reason I thought that gap would get filled with light. I'm not sure why. Yugi and his friends made it seem that it worked that way somehow, but you know what I realized?"

"That you stay empty inside."

"Precisely. Nothing fills that hole. It's just a hole. Want to move in with me?"

Bakura wanted to look at Marik again, but couldn't bother turning his head. "Why the hell would I do that?"

"So you can lie to Ryou and tell him everything's fine, just like I lie to Ishizu."

"Okay." Bakura sighed, closing his eyes and gathering up enough will to sit up. "I'll pack a bag. I don't have much."

Marik rose to his feet, flipping the light switch on. Bakura winced as harsh yellow struck the room, but he didn't complain because he knew- no matter how _blas_ _é_ Marik acted- that the darkness of the room bothered him. Bakura still didn't understand why he hadn't turned the lights on to begin with.

After Bakura shoved his things in a duffle bag, Marik left so Bakura could change into clean clothes. He walked down the hall with his bag slung over his shoulder. He turned to go into the bathroom to brush his teeth and pack his toiletries. Ryou's sobbing echoed down the hallway, so Bakura stopped to listen. He leaned against the wall, his hands in his pockets, his tangled white hair casting faint shadows across his sallow cheeks.

Marik's voice was the first to speak. It was neither the commanding tone of the former leader of the Ghouls, nor was it his insufferable _Namu_ act, but rather something in between those two voices. "He'll be fine. I promise."

"I know." Ryou sniffed, trying to stop the tears. He seemed to cry more than he didn't these days, and Bakura knew that was his fault. "I can't help but think . . . maybe . . . maybe it would have been better if I never found a way to bring him back. I was trying to help. I didn't know he'd be so unhappy."

Bakura dug his nails into his palms. He was an asshole and he knew it, but even he disapproved of the way he was affecting Ryou after all his former host had done for him. It's not that he wasn't grateful for being pulled out of the Shadows, it was that he simply couldn't forgive himself for failing. He deserved the Shadows. He deserved that pain and darkness for failing.

"Give him some more time. It seems like a long time ago for us, but remember he's on a different timeline than us."

"Yeah . . . I guess you're right." A final sniff and Ryou's voice sounded calmer. "Please stay for breakfast. I made too much again."

Bakura went into the bathroom, and afterward, found them sitting at the kitchen table. Ryou had cooked rice, tamago, fish, tofu, miso soup, and umeboshi. He sat down, giving the food an empty stare.

"Good morning," Ryou's said.

"It's noon."

"Yeah . . . do you want some?"

Bakura nodded. He wasn't hungry, but he knew it would make Ryou happy and he wanted to give his landlord at least that much before leaving.

Ryou jumped up and started fixing a portion of the food for Bakura. Marik snorted, sipping on miso soup. "Enjoy it, Bakura, because I'm sure as fuck not cooking for you."

"Bet your cooking tastes like crap anyway," Bakura muttered as he used chopsticks to bring a bite of rice to his mouth.

Marik snorted. "Either way, you'll never know."

"I'll just come back here when I need to be fed." He gave Ryou a wink.

His eyes lit up. "Anytime. You can always come back, Bakura. Please remember that."

"Stop fucking being so nice, _yadonushi_. I've warned you about that before."

Ryou smiled, eating tofu and pickled plums. "You never listen to me, why should I listen to you?"

Marik chuckled at Ryou's comment. Bakura even managed half of a smirk. After breakfast, Marik helped Ryou with the dishes. Bakura sat at the kitchen table, watching them absentmindedly. He wanted to go back to sleep, but knew he needed to stay awake so they could leave when Marik was finished.

When it was time to go, Ryou hugged both of them and watched them walk down the hall before he shut the door. On the streets, the sunlight made Bakura's eyes water. He couldn't remember the last time he had left Ryou's apartment.

"You look like a fucking skeleton. Did you know that?"

Bakura shrugged.

"I'm not Ryou," Marik continued. "I'm not going to cry and beg you to eat, or live, or be happy or any nonsense like that, but if you do starve yourself to death I'm going to dump your body in the pier because your sorry ass isn't worth a funeral."

His statement actually pulled a small, rattling laugh from Bakura's throat. "The pier where we first met, how romantic of you."

"A cleaning service comes to the apartment twice a week. I'll give you their schedule so you can stay out of their way."

"Cleaning service? You lazy asshole."

"Yeah? You scrub any toilets since coming back or did Ryou do everything for you?"

Bakura shrugged again.

"That's what I thought."

"Well, it's not like I expected you to be the domestic type."

Marik's lips curled up as he glanced at Bakura. "Let's be honest, could you even imagine me holding a mop?"

Bakura snickered. "Or me with a toilet brush?"

Marik snicked with him. "Thank the gods for maid service and take out food."

Marik's apartment was only three blocks away from Ryou's. They were on the top floor. Marik slipped an extra key into Bakura's hand. "I know you don't really need it, but consider it a gesture of welcome."

"Yeah, thanks." Bakura pocketed the key into his jeans pocket, looking around. "Got enough windows?"

"Suck my cock, Bakura."

He licked his lips. "Present it."

Marik narrowed his eyes into a sultry, come-hither stare. "You wish."

"In your dreams, perhaps."

Marik rolled his eyes and hung his own keys on a hook near the door.

Bakura looked around again. "Where am I going to sleep, by the way?"

"I'll show you around. You can see the kitchen from here. It's not really big, but then again I don't expect you cook much more than I do. Down here is the bathroom. It's all yours since I use the one in the master bedroom, and here's your room."

Only a futon and wardrobe sat in the room, but Bakura didn't care. He slung his duffel bag on the mattress and plopped down, staring at the ceiling. Marik crawled over Bakura's body, his mouth close to Bakura's mouth. "Hey, Bakura?"

A strange buzz filled Bakura's body, a sensation unlike anything he ever felt in his original body or in Ryou's, and he wasn't sure exactly what it was he felt. "What?"

Marik lowered his mouth by a centimeter. "Duel me."

"Are you fucking serious?"

"Why not? It'll be fun to kick your ass."

"I don't have cards."

Marik tilted his head. His hair tickled Bakura's cheek. "How the hell do you not have your cards?"

"I always used Ryou's."

Marik rolled his lavender eyes, pulling away. "Lucky for you, I used to to run a crime syndicate for trading cards."

"That sounds . . . fucking ridiculous, Marik."

"You're right, it does." Marik held out his hand and Bakura took it. Marik said, "my room."

Bakura followed Marik. They camped out Marik's bed. Marik gave him a stack of cards and waited for Bakura to fashion together a deck. They wasted the next few hours playing and trash talking each other through every move. Bakura wondered why he hadn't done the same with Ryou - his former host had offered enough times, but Bakura never managed to get out of bed. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that Marik and all but climbed on top of Bakura when he asked. He hadn't been adverse to the action, but he knew answering yes would removed Marik quicker than if he'd said no and started an argument.

They ate pistachios in lieu of dinner. After so many games, Bakura had lost count, Marik set his cards on his nightstand and pulled off his shirt. "I need to sleep. Just make yourself at home."

Bakura stared a moment at the sight Marik's muscles rippling beneath his curry-colored skin. Blinking, he offered the cards back to Marik.

Marik shook his head, standing up and removing his belt. "Keep them. We'll probably play again sooner or later."

Bakura wanted to stay and stare at Marik with detached fascination as Marik continued to undress, every movement of Marik's was fluid and lithe and Bakura wanted to appreciate it in the way one appreciated the ballet, but he knew that his actions would be misinterpreted as interest in Marik, so he stood and carried his deck of cards into his new room.

Bakura set the cards in a drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe. He dropped his duffel bag inside the closet and stripped down to his boxers, lying on the futon in Marik's spare room. He thought he might sleep. He felt tired, but he only stared at Marik's ceiling. It was smoother than Ryou's ceiling; neither had cobwebs, although Ryou cleaned his himself while Marik hired someone else to do it for him.

It wasn't until sunlight filled the room again that Bakura's eyes closed, and it didn't feel like long before he felt a weight on his bed again. Bakura struggled to open his eyes, remembering the days when no one could get near him without him hearing them. "Marik?"

"Hey."

"What time is it?"

"Two in the afternoon." He handed Bakura a small, plastic bottle. "Drink this."

"What is it?"

"Kefir."

"I don't want it."

"I know. I never do either, but I promised Ishizu I'd eat three times a day."

"Do you?"

"I drink that in the mornings, and I usually eat dinner. Close enough."

Bakura groaned as he sat up, drinking the thin yogurt and wincing after he finished.

"It was plain. Do you prefer flavored?"

"Doesn't matter. I don't want any of it."

"That's what I figured."

Bakura scowled. "So why are you making me drink it?"

Marik smiled. "Making you, am I? I didn't know I still had the powers of the Millennium Rod." He stood up, taking the empty kefir bottle and tossing it into a small waste basket near the futon. He wore white cargo pants and orchid colored shirt similar to his old one, but without the gold chain. Once again, Bakura found his eyes tracing up and down all the lines of Marik with vague fascination. Marik's hair draped past his shoulders, gold hair resting on orchid silk and the colors were memorizing together. He shrugged. "I sort of promised Ryou I'd try to snap you out of your depression."

"Since when did you keep your promises?"

Marik rose his thin, salon-tweezed eyebrow up at Bakura's statement. "Whatever could you be referring to? My promise to my sister to eat? I look a lot better than you do." He took two steps closer and leaned down towards Bakura. "Or are you still angry about the whole Rod thing? If that's the case, I guess I could show you my back like I did for the Pharaoh."

Bakura crossed his arms over his chest. "Idiot, I saw your back when you showed the others. My soul was still in the Ring."

Marik gave Bakura a look thick with mock surprise. "Were you? I must not have noticed your smirking asshole spirit face with everything else that was going on at the time."

Bakura rolled his eyes. "For all the good it did me. I still lost."

Marik straightened up, looking away. "We all lost."

Bakura winced. His throat hurt and his eyes burned, but he wasn't sure why. He couldn't process the physical reaction. "Go away, I'm trying to sleep."

"Yeah." Marik walked out the room without further arguing.

Bakura had gotten what he'd asked for, but it didn't feel right. He was used to Marik arguing. Bakura held his pillow to his chest, staring at the door as if Marik would come back and start screaming, but it didn't happen, and Bakura fell back asleep.

When he woke up, Marik sat at the foot of the bed, and the lights were on.

"You're back."

Marik combed tanned fingers through gold hair, shaking it out a little. "I was trying to figure out what I wanted for dinner. What sounds good?"

"Nothing."

"Exactly. We should drink champagne and forget the mortal inconveniences of nourishment." He glanced at Bakura, eyes searing through the former dark spirit. "What did you eat when you were alive?"

"Beer and bread mostly."

"How boring." Marik made a face. "I want grapes. Let's go to the store."

"Why should I go?"

Marik shrugged.

Bakura turned so that he stared at the wall instead of Marik. "Then I'm staying here."

Marik stretched out, "You're so fucking boring. You were never this boring before."

Bakura turned to face Marik, maroon eyes flashing in the bedroom light. "Then maybe we should plan to kill someone. That seems to be when we had to most fun together."

Marik grinned, revealing ivory teeth. "Tempting . . . then again, it wasn't all that fun."

"But going to the store and getting grapes would be fun?"

"No, but have you ever had them out of the freezer? They're good."

"I'd have to brush my hair."

Marik chuckled. "That's not a bad idea. You're starting to look like those nasty American college kids that backpack through Europe and smell like cheap Patchouli."

"Fuck you, Ishtar."

Marik smiled, his voice demure. "But then I'd never get my grapes. You'd be too tired to go to the store after getting fucked by me, Bakura."

Bakura scoffed, sitting up. "Even in this scenario where we're actually going to fuck - what makes you think _you'd_ be the one to do the fucking?"

Marik sat up as well, leaning closer to Bakura. "Isn't that exactly how it'd go down?"

"I am not a cow to be mounted."

Marik adjusted the gold at his wrists. "That's a very specific choice of animal, Bakura. I can't help but feel like your subconscious chose that because you think of me as a powerful bull."

Bakura snorted and stood up. He found the hair brush from his duffel bag and started at the tips of his hair. "Sure, Marik. More like a golden calf - the downfall of any who kneel before you."

Marik doubled over in laughter. "Tell me you didn't just reference The Bible?"

Bakura glanced at Marik. "The what? That was just some story an old woman told us as kids about some slaves that left Egypt." Bakura pointed the brush at Marik. "See? They hated the pharaohs as well. It's not just us that suffered. The dynasties were unjust prison systems disguised as government."

Marik sniffed, his laughter fading. "No argument there." He stood up. "Then again, I can't really talk since I've owned my fair share of slaves when I ran the Ghouls."

Bakura reached the crown of his hair, trying to get his horns to lay down and failing. "Whatever happened to all of them, anyway?"

Marik tried to hid a grin, his arms crossed over his chest. "You'd laugh."

"I'm going to the store to get your stupid grapes. I deserve a good laugh."

Marik shrugged, hair teasing his arms. "I suppose you do. The last command I mentally sent to them all before relinquishing the Rod was to go and fulfill their secret desires in life. I had to repress any goals they had to control them, but at that last moment I opened the floodgates to give them a purpose in life."

Bakura snorted, dropping the brush to the bed and shuffling his hair with his fingers. "That's kinder than I expected from you."

Marik crossed his arms, leaning against the wall and looking off as if he could see the past with his bright, lilac eyes. "I was so happy that day. My dark half was gone. I had my family. I was finally _free_ \- at least I thought I was. At that moment I wanted my dolls to have a chance for the same kind of life, so I told them to go find it."

"Too bad it's not that easy," Bakura said without masking his bitterness.

Marik shrugged. "Quit playing with your hair and let's go."


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

 

 

Anime/Manga » Yu-Gi-Oh » **Heart's Desire**  
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|  Author: sitabethel | 1\. Chapter 1 2. Chapter 2  
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| Rated: M - English - Romance/General - Reviews: 3 - Published: 12-22-15 - Updated: 12-22-15 | id:11683701  
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*****And here is chapter 2*****

* * *

Bakura stared at his arms and grimaced at the strange, fish-belly white they turned under the harsh, store light. He missed his spiced colored arms when he thought about it. The white skin made him feel like he was still possessing Ryou.

Speaking of spiced-colored skin, Marik stood beside him and held a basket filled with kefir, grapes, smoked salmon, cream cheese, and a sort of fancy bread that Bakura didn't recognize.

"Are we done yet?" Bakura sighed.

"Coffee, then we're done." Marik wandered off to find coffee, but Bakura stayed where he was near the checkout.

He watched Marik walk away, ass swaying in his cargo pants. When Marik disappeared, his eyes wandered to the other people in the store, but they were all dull and boring compared to his former partner-now-roommate. He was almost relieved when Marik returned, if for no other reason than to have something interesting to look at. After they checked out, Marik tried handing Bakura one of the bags of groceries.

He gave the bag a suspicious look. "What?"

"Carry it for me."

"What the hell's wrong with you?"

"There's two bags and two of us. Come on, be a gentleman."

"Hell no."

Marik shrugged. "I get it. It's too heavy for you. Don't worry, Bakura, I'm strong enough to carry both of them."

"Manipulating me by bringing my macho pride into question isn't going to work, Ishtar."

"Well aren't you secure, or at least indifferent."

At home, Marik threw the grapes in the freezer and started making sandwiches out of the salmon. He winked at Bakura. "Here's meal number two, and then grapes are meal number three. See? I keep my promises- three meals."

"Grapes are not a meal. Not that I care what you do."

"Shut-up and eat this sandwich." Marik shoved a plate against Bakura's stomach.

He sat down and started eating, because with Marik, it took less energy to eat the damn sandwich than it did to insist that he wasn't hungry. He saw a flash from the corner of his eye, and he turned to Marik who was swiping his finger along his phone. "What the fuck, Marik?"

"Sending Ryou a message saying I've gotten you to play cards, eat twice, and go on a walk with me."

"What? Did you just win a bet?"

"No, but it'll keep him from worrying, won't it?"

Bakura snorted. "True."

Marik took his plate into the living room. "What the hell are you doing eating at the table? Damn, Bakura, how well did Ryou train you before I came along to rescue you?"

"Goddammit." Bakura stood up and went into the living room to sit with Marik.

He felt foolish. When _had_ that become a habit? When he and Ryou shared a body? He could never tell. He tried to remember doing simple things in Egypt, eating, sleeping, taking a crap. He couldn't. He remembered fighting the priests and the pharaoh; he remembered screaming ghosts.

Bakura sat his half eaten sandwich on the coffee table. "I've forgotten her face."

Marik glanced over. "Who's face?"

"My mother. I used to think about her face when I fell asleep, but I forgot it in the Ring and then I forgot that I forgot it."

Bakura jerked when he felt the warm weight of Marik's hand on his shoulder.

He jerked away from Marik's touch, standing up. "Don't touch me. I'm going to sleep."

"You should finish talking about it, Bakura."

"I'm not even sure why I started talking about it to begin with." Bakura left down the hallway.

He dropped into his bed, burying his face into his pillow. When his breath became too thin from breathing into the fabric he turned his head, staring at the wall. Sleep didn't come quick or easy, nor did waking. Bakura opened his eyes, feeling groggy and more tired than when he went to sleep. He wanted to stay in bed but his bladder ached, so he stumbled up and went to the toilet.

On his way back to his room, Bakura heard a strange thing- Marik giggling. He stopped and listened to the noise of the television interrupted by quick bursts of giggling. Bakura was intrigued. Marik snickered, sometimes he laughed, but this was a strange and fascinating new sound that Bakura never imaged Marik was capable of making. Bakura crept down the hallway with bare feet.

He saw Marik's face lit up by ceiling and television light. He had his hand over his mouth to stifle the giggles. Sometimes he'd lower it to grab a grape from a bowl and pop it into his mouth, but as soon as he started to laugh, he'd cover his mouth again. His eyes were brighter than usual and they made his face light up. Bakura found himself stepping into the living room to get a closer look at him.

While reaching for another grape, Marik's eyes happened to flick in Bakura's direction and the amusement on his face turned into guilt. "Dammit." Marik grabbed the remote and flicked the channel.

"Watching porn?" Bakura asked with a smirk, although it hadn't sounded like a porn flick.

A single dry snort of laughter escaped from Marik's throat, the kind of amusement Bakura was used to him expressing. "Had I been watching porn, I would have offered for you to sit in my lap and watch it with me."

Bakura couldn't help the smile on his face. He still felt hollow inside, and he was still bothered by the realization that he couldn't remember most of his first life, but Marik had given him a mystery to ponder instead of his own exhausted thoughts. He sat back on his half of the couch. "That brings up a rather interesting question. What were you watching?"

Marik shoved two grapes into his mouth and shrugged.

Bakura shook his head. "Talk with your mouth full. I don't mind."

Marik rolled his eyes, swallowing. "Finish your sandwich. Then I'll show you."

Bakura combed his fingers through his bat wings. "You really are just babysitting me to give Ryou a break, aren't you?"

"No, not to give Ryou a break. I just wanted you over for snorts and giggles."

"Speaking of giggles." Bakura grabbed the cursed sandwich and took a bite. "What exactly were you watching?"

Marik looked sheepish. "Okay, but first you need to realize that it's not my fault I'm watching it. Rishid's the one that likes these awful movies, and I just watch them to have something to talk with him about. It's not my fault?"

Bakura set his empty plate back on the table. " _What movies_?"

"You want a grape? They're not completely frozen anymore, but they're still good."

"Marik."

"Fine." Marik brushed a ribbon of gold hair behind his ear and turned the channel again.

Bakura frowned at the screen. "What language is this?"

"Doesn't matter. Just watch."

Bakura sat for a moment. The lines on his face creased as his frown deepened. "He's chasing a car . . . and catching up to it."

Marik snickered, trying to repress it. "Yeah."

"Did he just knock that fucker into a lamp post by hitting him with another lamp post?"

"Yes!" Marik held his stomach and doubled over laughing, unable to hold it in any longer.

"This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever . . ." Bakura stopped talking and watched Marik. A smile stole across Bakura's face as he watched Marik instead of the movie. He'd never seen Marik in a fit of laughter before that evening. It was oddly intoxicating to watch.

"Okay, okay, but watch this. See the car flips, but here . . . boom! Bitch slap! It's so stupid, I know." Marik wiped at his eye.

The worst thing of it was that Marik's laughter was contagious. It made the movie less ridiculous and more entertaining, and by the end, they were both leaning against each other's shoulders laughing, and trying to shove grapes into each other's mouths to get each other to choke as they laughed. At some point Bakura realized the movie was over, and he was staring at Marik's lips instead of the T.V. as Marik ate grapes.

Marik seemed to notice Bakura's gaze. He stopped eating, leaning a little closer.

Bakura jerked away. Marik blinked for moment and shoved a final grape into his mouth. "Want to watch another one?"

Bakura shrugged. "I guess."

* * *

Bakura woke up when Marik lay next to him. "Don't you ever knock?"

"No, so you should probably lock the door if you ever decide to jerk off or I'll walk right in."

Bakura rolled his eyes.

"Or don't lock the door if you're into being watched."

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Marik?"

Marik handed him a bottle of kefir.

Bakura took it and sat up. "Ah yes, prison feeding."

Marik turned on his side, propping his head up with his elbow. "I'm not exactly treating you like foie gras."

"Good to know you're not planning on eating my liver."

"I'm sure you'd taste far too bitter."

"I'd taste like despair," Bakura said without thinking. He threw his bottle into the waste basket and returned to his favorite hobby of staring at the ceiling.

Marik glided his fingertips across Bakura's temples, tucking stray hairs away from his face.

"Don't touch me, Marik."

"Why? Afraid?"

"You're not known for treating your toys gently."

Marik snorted. "Funny, I thought you were tough enough to take a little rough handling."

Marik's words caused shivers to knot up Bakura's belly. He closed his eyes, trying to process the feeling. It was queasy, and terrifying, and delightful, more addicting that the powers of darkness that he used to weave like threads in a loom.

He had the horrible suspicion that it was a specifically human feeling, and he wasn't sure what to do with it.

Marik ran his finger over Bakura's shoulder. "Hey Bakura?"

"That's your manipulating tone of voice."

Marik chuckled. "Is it?"

"What do you want?"

"Do you still know how to summon your _ka_?"

Bakura opened his eyes, sitting up. ". . . Maybe. I wouldn't though. Not now with cellphones and satellite cameras."

"What about magic? Do you know how to use _heka_?"

"Some, not like Ryou."

Marik stretched out on the mattress, his body long and lean. "No one can use magic like Ryou. He brought you back in your own body."

Bakura frowned. "It almost killed him. He passed out. I had to call Yugi, pretend I was him, ask for help, and then hide when they showed up with the ambulance."

"Idiot. Why didn't you take him to the hospital?"

"I was confused and in shock. I hadn't quite processed the fact that I was alive yet, so I did what came to mind."

Marik snickered. "Your first instinct was to ask Yugi for help?"

"Marik, I swear to the fuckings gods I will end you in a way that no magic can restore. Asking Yugi for help was what I thought _Ryou_ would do first."

"Sure. Sure." Marik waved off Bakura's explanation and sat up. "Nevertheless- you know what would be fun?"

"Jumping off a cliff?"

"Facetiousness only makes you look adorable, Bakura. You should really stop trying to act like you're indifferent at this point in the game."

Bakura crawled out of bed. "I'm taking a shower."

Marik stood up as well. "Okay, but I'm not done talking, so I'm just going to follow you into the bathroom."

Bakura glared at Marik, crossing his arms over his chest.

Marik grinned. "What? I'm trying to have a conversation."

A sigh huffed out of Bakura's mouth. "Fine. What would be fun, Marik?"

"If you taught me how to use _heka_. I'm bored."

"Learn to knit."

"Not as impressive at dinner parties as wielding the elements, Bakura."

Bakura smirked. "You miss the Rod, don't you? Little Marik, all that power at your finger tips and now it's all gone, leaving you mortal and wanting."

"Bitch, don't project on me. I doubt you have enough magic left in you to teach me anything good anyway."

Bakura snorted. "If you're even talented enough to learn." He walked out the room.

"Where are you going?"

"I told you, to take a damn shower. I feel greasy."

"Where are your clothes?"

"In my bag."

"Take them with you, stupid."

"Fuck you, I live here now."

Marik snorted, going into the living room. "Fine, whatever, but if you walk past me naked, I'm staring."

Bakura started to laugh, bringing up his hands in a shaky, ghost-like gesture. "Ooooo, you might look at me naked, so scared."

"Hurry up and shower so I can learn some damn magic already."

* * *

They sat crossed legged on the floor of Bakura's room. A tall, white pillar candle sat on a paper plate between them. Marik rested his elbows on his knees and propped his chin with his hands. "So . . ."

"Light the candle."

"I don't have a lighter."

"Use _heka_."

Marik snorted. "See, Bakura, the point is for you to _show_ me what to do. If I could do it on own, I wouldn't need your help."

"You were a tomb-keeper all those years and they didn't teach you anything?"

"I was the keeper of the Pharaoh's memories." Marik flung his hands up into the air in a dramatic gesture. "We didn't have time to dilly dally with the priests."

Bakura raised his frost-colored eyebrows. "Dilly dally?"

"Not my term. I was paraphrasing." Marik frowned.

"What? A kid's show?"

Marik gestured to the candle. "Bakura, focus."

Bakura snapped and the wick ignited. Then he spread out his fingers and the flame extinguished.

"Fucking show off. I still don't know how you did it."

Bakura smirked, but after a moment he held both hands on each side of the candle. "The hand gestures are for flare more than anything. Using _heka_ is simply activating your _ka-_ not summoning it, just awakening it within you. Energy flows through us, and everything else in the world, like blood. If you concentrate that power . . ."

The flame lit again, and then extinguished a moment later. Bakura raised his maroon eyes up at Marik. "I can't explain any better than that- you have to feel it out on your own."

Marik leaned forward, glaring at the candle.

Bakura chuckled. "Straining your forehead muscles isn't going to make it any easier."

"Shut-up. I'm trying to concentrate."

"You're trying to copy the idiots you've seen on T.V. It doesn't work like that. Here-" Bakura snatched both of Marik's hands into his own. "Forget the candle. Just try to sense your _ka_."

"You're hands are warm now. In Battle City they were always like ice."

"Marik."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm trying to pay attention, but you have no idea how weird this is." Marik laughed. The smile on his face complemented his features. "It's like you're human now. It's sort of creepy."

"Idiot, I am human now."

"I know that, logically, asshole, but that's still not the same as feeling it with my own hands."

"This lesson is about to be over."

"But Bakura." Marik winked at him. "Don't you like holding hands with me?"

"We're done."

"Don't be like that."

"You're not taking this seriously."

"Yes I am. Activate your _ka_. I want to see if I can sense it with our hands linked."

Bakura sighed and did as Marik asked. Marik's breath hitched, and Bakura frowned as he asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Marik said, although he sounded a little breathless. "Is . . . is it supposed to tingle like that?"

Bakura didn't know what Marik was talking about, so he shrugged. "I don't know. I taught myself."

"Oh." The syllable was half sighed and half spoken.

"Marik?"

". . . Hold on. I'm getting used to this. I think I can . . ."

Bakura was about to ask if Marik was okay- he looked fevered- but then his entire body started to hum. Bakura gasped, trying to cope with the odd sensation.

"Look. I did it."

The grin on Marik's flushed face made it hard for Bakura to look away, but he managed to sink his gaze down to the candle. "Mmmm . . . good job," Bakura muttered, not meaning to compliment Marik, but too distracted by the static feeling flowing up and down his arms to say something facetious.

"That was too easy. I need something harder. Let's try a real spell."

"I don't exactly have any ancient scrolls lying around for us to use."

Marik jumped up. Bakura blinked as soon as their hands separated, missing the feeling of currents running through him.

"I do. Wait here."

Marik came back with a binder full of papyrus paper.

"Where did you get that?" Bakura asked with a grin.

Marik shrugged. "I stole these from the tomb before I moved to Domino."

"Nice."

"Yeah, well I figured I should get some sort of compensation for my childhood being completely fucked." Marik thumbed through the pages, grinning and pulling out a single sheet. "And with this spell, that compensation can take the form of a brand new, customized to my liking, Ducati. They don't come in plum from the factory, but I figure if I conjure one using magic, I could probably make it happen."

"Are you fucking kidding me? This was all a set-up for you to get a motorcycle created just for you because the factory ones don't come in your signature color?"

"What? You wouldn't have a problem if we went and stole one."

"No. I wouldn't really care."

"Well what's the difference?"

Bakura leaned back, rolling his eyes. "What's the spell?"

Marik read over the hieratic. "It's suppose to grant a wish. I can read the spell, and I know the proper diction-"

"Then why do you even need my help?"

Marik gave him a guilty look. "I could never figure out how to activate my _ka_ before."

"Well, you can now."

Marik stared at the candle. "I don't think I can do it without you."

"You did it three seconds ago- you're the one that said it was too easy!"

"Well, it was easy when I was holding your hands." Marik grabbed for Bakura's hands, but he jerked away.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Experimenting. Give me your hands." Marik reached for Bakura again.

Bakura hesitated before allowing Marik to grab his hands once again. He activated his _ka_ , allowing _heka_ to flow through him. Marik did the same, and once again Bakura felt the strange current coursing through him. Bakura had to bite his tongue to keep from moaning as Marik toyed with the candle flame, lighting and extinguishing it.

The fire flared up, taking the shape of a Phoenix before fading into smoke. "See? I need your help."

"No." Bakura jerked his hands away. "You need to practice until you're good enough to do it on your own."

"Yes," Marik agreed, a little too easily. "And I will. I promise."

Bakura chuckled, knowing exactly what Marik would say next. "After you get your bike?"

Marik grinned. "What can I say? You know me really well."

Bakura smirked. "What do I get out of it?"

"Free rent."

"You never said I had to pay rent, or groceries, or utilities."

"Free rides on a Ducati."

"Horses are better."

"Do you want a horse? I'll buy you one."

"And stable it in the living room?"

"We'd have to keep it at a professional stable, which would probably be a town or two out of Domino, but it'd still be your horse, and I could drive you on the Ducati to go and ride it whenever you wanted."

Bakura ran his fingers through his tangled hair. "You'd spend all that money on me, but you won't buy your own damn motorcycle?"

"I want it _customized_ , Bakura."

Bakura grabbed the spell and glared at it. "You have to do two things before I help you with this."

"Those two things are?"

"Continue to practice activating your _ka_ until you can light the candle on your own, and teach me how to read this crazy tomb-keeper scratch your people call writing so I can go through these spells on my own."

"Deal."

"And reading lessons start right now."

"Let's just do the spell and I promise to work on both those things starting tomorrow," Marik said.

"No. You have a way of getting out of our deals."

"Hey, you didn't get the Rod, but I didn't get all the god cards- nor did I beat my dark half with you- so don't get so righteous."

"I'm still not dumb enough to give you a new toy before I try to get you to do something."

"Okay c'mon, Bakura." Marik crawled past the candle and stopped just short of Bakura's lap. He leaned close, his lips breaths away from Bakura's lips and hands resting on Bakura's shoulders. "Don't you want to cast this spell with me?"

Bakura had to swallow. It took him a moment to snap out of Marik's manipulation. "No, I want to learn how to read the scrolls so I can cast spells on my own."

Marik dropped into Bakura's lap, exhaling. "Fine. Let's get some lunch and then I'll teach you to read."


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

 

*****Long chapter is long. Well, I hope this ending is okay now. I kept adding to this chapter because I was never quite satisfied with it. Honest!Bakura is really hard to write dialogue for because I'm so used to him using irony as a defense mechanism, that him being forced to answer straight up feels out of character. It's the same reason I don't like to write Thiefshipping BDSM, the beauty of their ship is the continuous ebb and flow of their banter, and having one of them stay static in either a dom or sub role just kinda ruins that perfect balance that they pull off. But I hope I did a decent job here despite a lack of sarcasm.**

**I also hope everyone has a nice holiday (and thank the gods that it's almost over lol).**

* * *

They sat on the couch together with Marik's binder full of scrolls. Marik had no sense of personal space and sat pressed into Bakura. It made looking at the scrolls easier, so Bakura didn't argue about it, but he felt an odd . . . discomfort sitting that close to Marik. His stomach felt stuffed with feathers, and his palms sweated.

He knew how to read somewhat, but the tomb-keepers had their own dialect and some of the hieroglyphs were different. Nevertheless, Bakura had enough basic understanding of the language that he learned quickly. After only two weeks of studying, he could make out most of the characters on Marik's scrolls.

He hated to admit it, but there was something satisfying about spending his days with Marik. He found himself walking up before noon- even if it was still past ten- to start their lessons, and he no longer complained when Marik handed him a bottle of kefir for breakfast or made him eat lunch or dinner.

But he still had trouble sleeping at night. When everything sat still and quiet and Marik was in a separate room, it left Bakura alone with his thoughts. Bakura lay beneath a blanket, staring at the ceiling. He only wore a pair of gray sweatpants, white fingers brushing against his belly.

He thought about loosening the drawstring, touching himself, letting the burning rush of orgasm build and topple through him, leaving him drowsy and relaxed. Perhaps then he'd sleep. But his hand stayed on his stomach because he knew if he allowed his finger to dip below his waistband then he'd think of Marik, and he couldn't . . . _he couldn't_ allow himself to ever care about another person again. People died. Everyone died. After his village burned, Bakura swore he'd never grieve for a lost loved one again.

Although he was starting to gather that Marik hadn't offered to take Bakura in just to give his former host a break. At first, Bakura truly thought that Marik's gesture had been his way to repent against everything that happened to Ryou during Battle City, but too often did Marik find excuses to drape over Bakura's shoulder, or use Bakura's lap as a foot rest. Too often did Marik speak in innuendo and whisper snide retorts almost against Bakura's lips. Marik hadn't done it for Ryou at all- he'd taken Bakura in because he wanted Bakura around. It was hard to grasp, having someone _seek_ his company. He'd spent his life in Egypt alone; he'd grown used to solitude. Now Marik . . .

But he couldn't allow himself to ever care about another person again.

Although it damn near killed him each time Marik almost pressed their mouths together- almost but never giving into the temptation. Bakura knew Marik wanted him to fill the gap between them, and that thought made his face burn.

But he couldn't allow himself to ever care about another person again.

A creak from the hallway made Bakura jerk his head towards the door. There, in the doorway, bathed in the soft white of one of the apartment's many nightlights, Marik stood. Licks of pyrite stuck to his temples, and his eyes were round and too bright.

"What's wrong?" Bakura sat up, ready to jump out of bed and take action if need be.

Marik stumbled into the room, muttering. "It's stupid."

"What's stupid?" Bakura asked as Marik crashed onto the futon and buried his face against Bakura's bare chest. His tears burned Bakura's skin, like they were being attacked by Ra all over again. Bakura wondered at it, at the heat of tears. Had his own tears burned that hot? Hot as the fires that melted everyone he knew into the Items?

"The dream. It was a dream. I know it's not real. It was a stupid dream."

Bakura found himself sweeping his arms around Marik's body, leaning his cheek against Marik's golden hair. "What happened?"

"It's stupid," Marik sobbed.

"Marik . . . what happened?"

"I was ten . . . it was Rishid instead of my father cutting me."

After he spoke the words, Marik's sobs doubled. He gasped against Bakura's chest, his shoulders jerking in Bakura's hold.

"Marik," Bakura whispered into Marik's hair. "That bald idiot would cut his own throat before hurting you."

"I _know_ that. It's . . . just . . . it's- gods, Bakura, it hurt all over again, but it was worse."

Bakura pulled them both down so that they were laying on the mattress, Marik still tucked against his body. "I got you."

Bakura was fucking up and he knew it. He felt Marik's body relax in his arms and his sobs settle into a miserable whimper. He felt their heartbeats arguing against each other's chests. He couldn't care, he couldn't care, but if the gods came and asked Bakura if he'd take all of Marik's pain onto himself- he'd bear Marik's scars, his past, his nightmares all in Marik's place. Bakura knew he wouldn't hesitate before agreeing to that.

He didn't even realize his hand had wandered to Marik's back until he heard Marik sigh. Bakura tensed a moment, half-expecting Marik to scream at him despite the way Marik seemed to melt into Bakura's body, but his former partner didn't scream or tell Bakura to stop, so Bakura continued caressing his naked back until Marik's breathing slowed to a quiet, sleeping lull.

Bakura stayed awake long after Marik went to sleep, rubbing comforting circles on his back, making making sure his nightmares didn't return. Bakura fell asleep with his fingertips tracing Marik's scars.

In the morning, Bakura woke up before Marik. He crept to the kitchen, grabbed two bottles of kefir for their breakfast, and handed one of the two bottles to Marik as soon as he opened his eyes. Marik smiled, and Bakura realized that Marik looked rather exceptional in the mornings with his hair mussed around his face and his eyes hazy from sleep.

 ***

"I'm trying."

"Don't try- do it."

"It's not that fucking easy, okay?"

"You know how to do it, Marik."

Marik ground his teeth, almost snarling at the candle in front of him. Bakura could read, now all Marik had to was light a candle without Bakura's help, and then Bakura would help him conjure his motorcycle- since that was what Marik thought of as a good use of the gods' powers.

Bakura snickered. "Relax. You look like you're going to break your jaw."

"This is frustrating."

"Take a deep breath."

Marik winked at Bakura. "You should suck my dick. Then I'd be nice and relaxed. I could probably light 100 candles afterward."

Bakura stared at his lap, ignoring the jab altogether. "You'll never do it if you sit here and run your mouth."

"You're no fun, Bakura."

"I never claimed to be."

Marik tried for another minute and then threw the candle across the room. "This is fucking nonsense, Bakura. I'm activating my _ka_. I can feel the energy. I just can't focus it."

Bakura stared at the hole in the wall of Marik's bedroom where the candle hit, raising an eyebrow at Marik.

Marik waived Bakura's look off with his hand. "I can pay to get it fixed. I'm not worried about the wall. I'm pissed off that I can't light the candle."

Bakura grinned. "Maybe you do need to relax a bit."

"Oh? Are we going to try the dick sucking plan after all?" Marik licked his lips. Bakura held his breath to prevent himself from lunging forward and helping with his own tongue.

He looked away. "I was thinking that maybe a bike ride would help you clear your thoughts."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Marik's irises light up. "Does that mean we're going to skip the magic lessons and use that one spell to make my bike?"

"You have to cast the spell your damn self. I'm just going to stand by you to help amplify your _heka_."

Marik jumped up. "Can we do it now? I want to go on a ride before dark."

Bakura shrugged to show his indifference.

"Great. Sit on the edge of the bed."

"Why?" Bakura frowned.

"So I can sit in your lap, of course."

"That has _what_ to do with the spell, exactly?"

"Absolutely nothing." Marik shrugged, grinning. "I just thought you might be dumb enough to do it."

"Hold my damn hand, Marik. This is a spell, not a lap dance."

"Gods, you're no fun. What's wrong with a little seduction to go with the spellcasting?"

"Marik." Bakura stood up, pulling his t-shirt lower so his forming erection wouldn't be noticeable. If Marik saw it, there'd be no end to his erotic teasing and they'd never get the spell casted. "You know if you pronounce even one syllable wrong then that spell won't work."

Marik shrugged a single shoulder, a casual movement on any other man, but when Marik did it, it was an invitation for his skin to be licked, and sucked, and bit. Bakura tried to avoid his thoughts, grabbing Marik's hand and activating his _ka._ The energy flowing through them was worse than usual. Bakura's eyes rolled back into his head a little at the sensation. His knees gave way, and he ended up sitting on the bed after all.

Marik dropped with him, sitting next to him instead of on his lap. "Ah," Marik murmured, and Bakura couldn't agree with him more. They sat beside each other on the edge of the bed, dizzy with magic.

"Marik . . . the spell," Bakura whispered. He wanted Marik to hurry up before he did something stupid. At that moment, Bakura really wanted to know what it'd feel like touching Marik's bare skin with their _ka_ 's activated instead of just holding hands. His free hand reached out, but fortunately Marik grabbed the scroll and began reading.

Bakura set his hand down, not wanting to interrupt the spell. Marik's diction impressed him. Marik's Japanese didn't have much of an accent, but it wasn't nearly as crisp. Good thing for Marik, since pronunciation was half the trick towards Egyptian magic.

But although Marik's words were perfect, nothing happened. Marik stared at the floor in front of them and frowned. "What did I do wrong _this_ time?"

Bakura shook his head. "Nothing that I can tell."

"Then where the fuck is my bike?"

Bakura's eyebrows furrowed. "Let me see the spell."

Marik handed over the papyrus, and Bakura looked at it. The spell was supposed to summon _one's heart's true desire-_ a motorcycle in Marik's case. "You didn't do anything wrong. Maybe the spell's a fake."

"My fucking luck. Next you'll tell me that the scars on my back are actually just a recipe for naan bread."

"I wouldn't mind touching them again," Bakura said before he could think about it.

Marik started a little at Bakura's comment. "Is that so?"

Then he smirked and slipped off his shirt.

"Uh, wait, I didn't mean to say that." Bakura held out his hands as if to ward himself from the sight of Marik's perfect, sculpted body.

Marik gave a little hum, laying on his stomach and pushing his hair off of his back. "Too bad, no take backs. If I can't have a Ducati, I should at least get a shoulder rub."

"Would you rather try another spell, or . . ."

"No, I give up for today." Marik flashed a wicked grin at Bakura. "Go ahead, you can touch them. You said you wanted to." Marik bowed his back a little, causing the muscles to ripple. "Come on Bakura . . . touch me."

Bakura looked at Marik's back. His breathing grew shallow as he stared. The light above them hit the pale scars, and Bakura was lost at the sight. He knelt on the mattress next to Marik, his thumb grazing along the ankh in the center of Marik's back. "It's not a recipe for bread, if you were actually worried."

Marik chuckled. "I've taken selfies- I know it's not a recipe."

Bakura slid his finger down to the hieratic on the bottom. He opened his mouth to tease Marik for having a typo, but his vocal cords tightened before any sound could form. Bakura's hand reached up to his throat.

"What's wrong?" Marik asked.

"My throat," Bakura said before he could say _I'm fine_.

"Need some water?"

"I think I'm okay." Bakura blinked, frowning. His answers seemed _automatic_ somehow, like breathing or his heart beating, a response he didn't will, but rather happened on its own.

Marik sat up. "Bakura, are you okay?"

"I feel odd."

Marik reached over and touched Bakura's forehead. "You don't have a fever."

"I don't feel sick. I just feel weird." Bakura pushed Marik's hand away. "Stop touching me, it makes my heart beat faster."

Both their eyes rounded. Bakura's mouth dropped while Marik's curled into a grin.

"Does it now? Please, do tell."

"Why the hell did I just say that?" Bakura looked around the room as if an explanation would be sitting on Marik's dresser or hanging on the walls.

"Don't change the topic." Marik grin widened as he rested a hand on Bakura's shoulder. "You were talking about your heart pittering at my touch."

"That's not what I said. It doesn't _pitter_ , it simply beats faster." Bakura winced. "And I don't want to talk about it."

"Oh, but Bakura, I do." Marik pressed his palm against Bakura's chest, his eyes lighting up as he laughed. "You're serious. I thought you were being facetious."

Bakura opened his mouth, trying to think of an excuse, but the air froze in his lungs. "What the hell . . . Marik, what the hell did you do to me?"

"Nothing. You're the one that's acting weird." Marik's amusement settled into mild confusion as he stared at Bakura. He touched his forehead again. "It is a little warmer now."

"I'm not sick. This is something different. Give me that damn spell." Bakura stared at the papyrus. "You were thinking about a motorbike when you cast the spell, right?"

"Purple Ducati with carbon fiber exhaust and tires that never wear out."

"Then why does it seem like everything I say is being ripped from my chest?"

A flicker of concern betrayed itself in Marik's expression. "Did I mess up somehow?"

"Not that I can tell, but every time I try say something sarcastic I feel like I'm being strangled while every time you ask me a question I blurt the answer out before I can think about it- like I'm fucking doing now! This is pissing me off, Marik."

"I'm sorry, but I don't know what you want me to do about it? Did you mess up my spell somehow? You owe me a Ducati if you did."

"I didn't do _anything_ with that spell. I just wanted you to get it over with so I didn't have to hold your damn hand anymore."

"Aww, and I thought we were friends."

"No, I've never been your damn friend, it's always been-" Bakura bit into his hand, trying to suppress the answer escaping from his mouth.

"Bakura? What the fuck?" Marik jerked Bakura's hand away from his mouth, a few drops of blood rolling down the white skin.

"I don't want to say it-"

"-Then don't. Whatever, I don't care, but don't hurt yourself."

"You don't understand, Marik, I can't _stop_ myself from answering." Bakura held his breath, his last sentence still fighting to flee from his mouth. "More. We're not friends we're . . . more somehow." He glared at Marik. "Marik, come clean, why did you really cast that spell?"

"For a fucking motorcycle, don't look at me like this was some plan of mine."

"That spell gives the caster their heart's true desire."

Marik snorted. "If making you pissed off and difficult was my heart's true desire, I think I could manage without the magic."

"I can't lie, or hedge, or even be sarcastic."

Marik looked away. "So? That's not my fault."

"Is it not?"

"I mean, I wasn't _thinking_ about it when I read the spell. I really was thinking about the bike."

"Were you now?"

"But, I mean when you activate your _heka_ it feels . . . uh, yeah, so maybe I was a little distracted." Marik crossed his arms over his bare chest. "This really is all your fault, Bakura. You've been intentionally obtuse since you moved in."

"Yes. _Intentionally_ obtuse. I've caught all your damn little signals, and I've been avoiding them on purpose"

A hurt look cut across Marik's face. "Are you really that unattracted to me?"

"Don't be ridiculous. You're gorgeous. If the gods are real they're jealous of you, I'm sure of it."

Marik turned to look at Bakura again, his smile a little guilty, but not necessarily remorseful. "So why? Why won't you just flirt back?"

"Because . . . I can't do it." It was Bakura's turn to look away. "I should have read the damn spell before I let you cast it. _You_ never know what's going on in your own head, and magic is fickle."

Marik scowled. "Well I didn't do it on purpose."

Bakura clenched his hands into fists. "How long does this fucking spell last?"

"Marik shrugged. I don't know? Until I'm satisfied, I guess. I mean, right? If this was some subconscious desire of mine."

"Marik, I will _never_ forgive you for this."

"Oh calm down, Bakura. I'm not asking you anything important. Although, we might be able to have some fun with this." Marik grinned. "So how big is your cock when it's hard?"

Bakura didn't know the exact measurement, so he held out his hands to show the right length.

"Bottom or top?"

"Dammit, dammit, fucking dammit, fucking-fuck! Bottom! You stupid asshole!"

Marik's eyes narrowed, like a cat's eyes before closing in on a catnip mouse. "Mmmm, I always thought so." He lowered his voice until the tone was glass-smooth. "And do you touch yourself at night?"

"No."

Marik blinked. "I thought you said you couldn't lie?"

"That wasn't a lie. I don't do it."

"Are you serious?"

"Marik," Bakura growled. "You know I'm being serious because I don't have a choice, and none of this is any of your damn business."

"Do you not feel like it, or . . .?"

" _I can't_."

"What? You mean physically can't?"

"No, I'm capable, but if I do . . ." Bakura stared at Marik a moment, wishing to the gods he'd never helped cast that spell. "I'd think of you. The he way you move, your body, your lips . . . oh gods your lips," Bakura groaned, feeling a blush burn across his cheeks as he spoke. "The thought of kissing you is enough to make me cream myself on any given night. Every time you come too close I know that's what you want but . . . _I can't._ Marik, I can't. I can't get close."

Marik scooted a little closer on the bed. "Why? That's what I really want to know. Why do you keep pushing away?"

Bakura's nails dug into his palms, but he couldn't stop from answering. "Because every time you touch me I feel human and I can't stand it, because if I let you get close and then you died-" Bakura started to hyperventilate, clutching at his chest. "This hurts, gods it hurts. I feel like I'm being torn apart and it won't stop hurting."

Marik grabbed Bakura. "What hurts, Bakura? You're chest? Is it the spell?"

Bakura's words barely left his throat. "Falling in love. It hurts, so this has to stop, Marik. I don't want to feel ever again."

Marik's fingers sank into Bakura's hair. "No, I won't make it stop, jackass. You can't shut it out forever. Maybe for three thousand years, but not forever."

Bakura jerked his head up. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but it wasn't what Marik had said.

Marik shrugged, still petting Bakura's hair. "I guess none of us get to be gods. Welcome to humanity, Bakura." He leaned close again, hovered his lips over Bakura's. "And here you are . . . a lowly mortal like me . . . on my bed."

"Stop doing that thing with your mouth, Marik."

"What thing?" Marik smiled, keeping his mouth too close.

Bakura ground his teeth, but the magic forced him to answer. "That sexy thing you do where you're so close that our noses almost bump together."

"Oh? You think that's sexy?" Marik asked in too sweet a voice. He moved so that their noses did brush together.

Bakura heard himself sighing as he felt Marik's breath against his lips. "Don't you dare," he whispered, eyes locked on Marik's lips.

"Hmmm?" Marik asked, still teasing Bakura by brushing their noses together.

"Don't ask me the next question. Don't you dare. It's not fair. I can't lie and tell you no."

"Too bad for you I don't play fair." Marik moved in a final time, all but pressing their lips together. "Do you want me to kiss you?"

He wouldn't say it, magic be damned he wouldn't say it, but he couldn't lie either so he nodded his head and closed his eyes. Marik kissed him, and Bakura moaned, pulling Marik closer after Marik broke the kiss.

"Don't stop," Bakura commanded.

Marik laughed. He pressed their lips back together, pulling away to talk, but always going back to Bakura's mouth. "Don't worry . . . I don't plan to . . . in fact . . ." Marik tugged off Bakura's shirt.

"What are you doing?" Bakura asked before their lips pressed back together.

"We're about to play a little game."

"I don't like the sound of that."

"No? I won't do anything you don't agree to beforehand."

"I'm sure this is an incredible power trip for you."

Marik dropped down to Bakura's neck, dragging his nose up and down Bakura's throat. "I'd be lying if I denied that, but I promise not to ask you anything important- just a few fun questions."

"Such as?" Bakura stared at the ceiling, his fingers digging a little deeper into Marik's shoulders as Marik continued to toy with his throat.

"Such as . . . where do you want me to touch you?"

"M-my chest." Bakura closed his eyes and gasped as Marik's fingers dragged across his chest. "More . . . more . . . lower."

Marik teased the skin around Bakura's navel. "Here? Or lower?"

"Lower," Bakura growled, pissed off that he couldn't tell Marik to go away since that was the last thing Bakura actually wanted.

Marik dipped his fingers just below Bakura's waistband. "Wouldn't it be better if our pants were off?"

Bakura arched his back and bucked up as Marik's fingers brushed the head of his cock. "Yes."

Marik hooked his fingers around Bakura's sweatpants and tugged them down to Bakura's knees. They had to shift to pull them all the way off, and afterward, Marik slipped out of his jeans.

"What do you want me to do now?" Marik asked, his voice eager.

"Kiss me," Bakura pleaded, his eye half lidded, wisps of hair scattered across his cheeks.

Marik began sucking on Bakura's bottom lip, his hands wandering across Bakura's chest, sliding down and cupping Bakura's ass. "Now what do you want me to do, Bakura?"

Bakura made a strangled sound. He wanted too many things at once, and he couldn't say any one of them. He lay down on his back, pulling Marik on top of him, and returned to kissing as he collected his thoughts. Before he could think to say anything, Marik slid their groins together, making Bakura groan again. Bakura activated his _heka_ , feeling the warmth of the energy surrounding his body.

This time Marik gasped, squeezing his eyes shut and slamming his hips deeper against Bakura's body. "B-Bakura . . ."

Bakura's breath hitched when he felt Marik's _heka_ dance across his skin. The familiar current of energy flowed between them, but with their entire bodies touching the feeling became exponential. Bakura wrapped his arms around Marik's back, pressing their bodies as close as he physically could. Marik squirmed against Bakura's touch, trying to press their skin closer together.

" _Heka_ existed before humans, before the gods, before the concept of duality," Bakura whispered.

Marik muttered something inaudible, sliding up and then back down, moaning softly and losing himself to the touch of their bodies. Bakura watched entranced, gasping every time Marik slid their cocks against each other.

Marik sighed, running his fingers through Bakura's hair, staring directly into his eyes. "Bakura . . . what do you want me to do now?"

Bakura closed his eyes. "Finish the spell, Marik. Take exactly what your heart desired."

Their lips met, moving with far more grace than their conversations ever had. Bakura's fingers soothed over each of Marik's scars, concentrating his _heka_ over the damaged skin.

Marik sighed again, sinking deeper against Bakura's body and resting his head against Bakura's chest. "Oh gods . . . that's so good . . . this is the first- _ahh-_ time my back's felt good since I was a child."

"I'll do it every night before you go to sleep," Bakura confessed, unable to hold the information back, to use it as a bargaining chip, or to at least tease Marik about enjoying it.

"Oh?" Marik pulled away, his eyes glistening with lust. He grabbed a bottle out of his nightstand drawer and rushing back. "You sleeping here now?"

Bakura smirked, it felt good on his face. This time, the truth was on his side so he bragged without holding back. "Isn't that part of what this was all about?"

Marik's cheeks lit up a touch, the faintest tint of mauve against the tops of his cheekbones. "Well, I guess we could just blame the spell."

Bakura opened his mouth to say something else, but his words evaporated the moment Marik slipped his fingers into Bakura's body. With their _heka_ still engaged, each press of Marik's fingers sent shivers straight through Bakura's groin. He started to rock his hips up, needing more of Marik's touch, will to beg for it if he needed to. Marik bent down and kissed Bakura's thighs. Their bodies still hummed with magic. The energy ebbed and flowed from one body to another.

"Ready?" Marik asked.

Bakura nodded, panting and nudging forward to encourage Marik to hurry. As Marik entered him, Bakura's back bowed and his eyes rolled up. " _Ahhhh, ahhhh._ "

"Too much?" Marik watched Bakura's face, pausing with himself fully sheathed into Bakura's body.

"It's good." Bakura continued to pant, chest muscle taut and sweat beading along his temples.

Marik eased out, waiting a moment before re-entering. Bakura shouted, unsure if it was magic or sheer pleasure making the screams come so fluid from his mouth. Marik kissed Bakura's right nipple, sucking for a moment before pulling away and nibbling along the crook of Bakura's neck. Bakura wrapped his legs around Marik's waist.

"Marik." It was only his name, that Bakura said, and yet at that moment it was also the truth. It was truer than anything Bakura had ever said in his life, so he squeezed his legs tighter around Marik's waist and his arms tighter around Marik's back, and shouted the name again. "Marik!"

Marik tried kissing Bakura, but their writhing bodies made it hard for their lips to stay connected, so Marik pressed a few rough kisses on Bakura's face before concentrating on slamming himself harder into Bakura's body. The moaned, and moved, and clung to each other. Bakura felt himself twitching around Marik's girth until he couldn't take it anymore and squeezed his muscles tight, making Marik work at each thrust.

Bakura's toes curled, and he grabbed Marik's gold-clad wrist. "Touch me."

Marik's hand darted to Bakura's cock, wrapping around Bakura's girth and working Bakura into a greater frenzy. Bakura's eyes fluttered shut. His hands fell away from Marik's back and reached up, grabbing at the scroll-work on the headboard. "Marik!"

"Fuck, Bakura!"

The sound of his name drove Bakura to the edge. He threw his arms around Marik's neck, his body hitching up a final time as he came. Once he finished, his arms loosened, but he refused to let go, holding Marik in his arms and savoring the way their magic spiraled between their bodies. His fingers searched out the scarred wings on Marik's back. He traced along the feathers and then the letters below them, brushing away stray drops of sweat and using _heka_ to soothe Marik's skin.

Marik started to call out, grabbing at Bakura's hair and ploughing deeper. Bakura couldn't hold back little grunts as Marik moved, but Marik's own cries drowned out all the other sounds in the room. His mouth stretched into a wide O, a strand of gold clung to the corner of his mouth but Marik was too far gone to brush it away.

Bakura kept the fingertips of his left hand resting on the ankh carved into Marik's back. With his right hand, he touched the spot on Marik's chest that shielded Marik's eyes caught, and time seemed to slow around them. Each forward push of Marik's hips brought rapture, and each backward drag of his body brought a sweet longing for more.

Marik's eyes closed as he pressed his forehead against Bakura's chest. Bakura held his breath as Marik came, and when Marik lay curled against Bakura's chest, Bakura continued to read the scars on Marik's back like braille.

"Maybe being alive won't be so bad this time," Bakura whispered.

"There's always bad Bollywood films and frozen grapes to help pass the time," Marik murmured into Bakura's chest, spent from the last half hour of lovemaking.

Bakura snorted. "Could you light a hundred candles now? You implied you could if you got laid."

"Candles? Bakura, at the moment I could steal Ra's chariot and bring the sun into the sky."

Bakura snorted. "A chariot would be more fun to ride than a motorcycle."

Marik made a small sound, more asleep than awake against Bakura's chest.

As he lay there, Bakura still felt it, that empty space in his soul where a demon used to nest, but now something living thrummed within the dead space as well. Magic. Marik's unique _heka_ , a power that existed long before the illusion of duality.


End file.
